Challenge, Accepted
by squiddly.bunny
Summary: Tony Stark has a perverse way of playing matchmaker. He dares Darcy to seduce Captain America before Christmas morning. Darcy, bless her heart, just can't say "no". AU-ish. Steve Rogers/Captain AmericaXDarcy Lewis.
1. Throwing the Gauntlet

**Author's Note:** _If you're looking for serious substance, you've come to the wrong place (and I would happily redirect you to my _other_ Captain America fic, "__**The Sun Hasn't Died**__", if you're looking for something with depth). While perusing other Captain America fanfiction for inspiration, I stumbled across one that paired him with Darcy Lewis. I then scrounged some other sites...found some more great DarcyxSteve fics, and spent the good part of a night laughing uncontrollably. While completely and utterly unconventional, I've decided that Darcy and Steve are perhaps my favorite ship of the whole Avengers 'verse. Would it ever work anywhere else except in my own twisted mind? Hells to the no. But the pairing is absolutely hysterical and I have decided that has a sad dirth of good DarcyxSteve fanfics. This is my attempt to rectify the oversight. It's sheer fluff, just so you know - but enjoy! The title is a popular quote of __**Barney Stinson**__ from __**"How I Met Your Mother"**__ (and because that's such a Darcy thing to say, too…)_

* * *

"'_No' is a dirty word,_

_Never gonna' say it first._

'_No' is just a thought that never crosses my mind."_

"**S.E.X."**

**Nickelback**

* * *

Darcy was convinced that she had died and gone to Heaven. Because, how else could she have gotten so lucky as to have such a _perfect_ specimen of male virility in her bed?

Steve smiled shyly up at her. In a total role reversal, he was laying on his back beneath her. Darcy had the whole magnificent, naked landscape of Captain America stretched out in front of her, willing for the taking. She wanted to swoon.

She also fought the urge to blush. It was practically _obscene_ how flawless he was. Hard, ripped abs. Impeccably sculpted chest. Not a spot of body hair from navel to neck - although, he did have a faint dusting of blonde curls that teasingly drew the eyes south. His shoulders nearly took up half the bed on their own and Darcy knew from being wrapped in his embrace that Steve could sling her over those shoulders without a change of breath.

His skin was lightly tanned, mouthwatering. He had just a hint of a five-o'-clock shadow along his jaw. Clear, commanding eyes watched her constantly from beneath lashes that any woman would envy. His hair - usually so neat and orderly, like the rest of him - was tousled from their earlier romp between the sheets.

And from the waist, down? Oh, yeah. Darcy swallowed hard as she took in the sight of him - for the upteenth time - and felt a thrill shoot straight through the core of her body. He was already half-erect and getting harder the longer her eyes smoldered at him. He was so well-built that he could make her cum just by pushing into her. The thought made her feel weak. She would never, ever, get tired of having him inside of her.

"You're gorgeous," it was her turn to be shy, as she reached forward and curled her fingers around his cock.

She made it a point to look him straight in the eye as she said that. She didn't want any confusion - it was imperative that he knew that she wanted him for more than what his body offered. Although, _hell_, his body offered a _lot_.

"I could say the same about you," the words practically tripped through Steve's teeth as he gritted them in sudden pleasure.

"Eh, I'm just the geeky intern girl next door," Darcy dipped her head coyly and finally lost the battle against her blush.

She'd never get used to him calling her "gorgeous". Ever.

"That's what I've always liked about you," his voice was a sensuous purr in the sex-drenched air.

He reached for her and Darcy came willingly. She stretched out on top of him, reveling in the feel of his unyielding ridges against her pliant curves. He was warm, _so_ _hot_, and everything about him was a luxuriously wrapped sin. As she settled herself, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder, he bucked his hips.

He was her undoing.

She opened her mouth and gasped against his skin. Her tongue flickered past her lips, just for a second, to taste him. He was sweat, and soap, and decadent, decadent sex. He rolled his hips again and she could feel him grow harder against the softness of her belly. A rush of warmth unfolded between her legs and Darcy was so close to whimpering his name against his warm, salty throat…

"Darcy," he moaned, tightening his grip on her.

They both began to shake, as he ground against her - slow, maddening strokes.

"Darcy," his voice had the edge of command to it; she knew he wanted her to lift her head, wanted her to look him in the eye as she came against him.

He loved doing this to her. Making her come without any penetration, without any direct stimulation. He was a master at it - or, maybe, she was just that into him. He could make her cum just by sucking on her breasts, just by kissing her, just by grinding his hips against hers. It was maddening what this man could do to her. Unreal, almost, the sway he had over her body.

"Darcy! _Wake up_!"

It took a second for the words to register. But, then they did. And Darcy Lewis bolted upright, confused, dazed, and bright red in embarrassment.

"Steve," she squeaked and fought the urge to hold the knitted afghan to her chest.

There was nothing for her to hide - she was fully clothed. Blinking her eyes owlishly, Darcy squinted at her surroundings, her glasses having fallen off while she slept. She was on the living couch, in Stark Tower, apparently having a sex dream - featuring Captain Freakin' America - that she desperately hoped no one had witnessed.

She had good enough eyesight, however, to see the confused look on said Captain America's face and the smug smirk that was slyly spreading itself across Tony Stark's face as he hovered behind Steve. Darcy could feel her whole face light up like the Fourth of July.

"You okay, Darce?" Steve was all innocence and concern, as he pressed something hard into her hand.

Darcy squeaked...until she looked down and saw that he had just handed her her _glasses_. Humiliated, she let her unbound hair fall into her face as she slipped the glasses onto her nose.

_Get a grip, woman_, she told herself sternly in an attempt to cool the heat in her cheeks.

"Darce…?" Steve suddenly reached out and put his hand beneath her chin, forcing her gently to look up at him. "Are you okay?"

She thought she was going to _die_, caught in the crossfire of those earnest blue eyes. However, Darcy didn't admit weakness, so she swallowed hard and said as steadily as she could -

"I'm fine, Cap. Any reason you woke a poor girl up from a perfectly good nap?"

She swatted his hand away, trying to be playful. Steve did _not_ look convinced.

"You were moaning in your sleep. Nightmare?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question to ask, since half a year hadn't even passed since the Dark Elves had decided to plow their mammoth spaceship into the University of Greenwich. Darcy could, at any given time, think of at least five times during the Convergence where she could have died. _Jane_ had struggled with nightmares in the aftermath - especially ones that involved Thor dying in several gruesome and unavoidable ways. And yea..._if_ Darcy was the sort of person to admit weakness, she'd be honest about the quality of her sleep in the last four months. Which was to say, there was no quality whatsoever. She'd woken up more than once tangled up in her sheets, covered in sweat and shaking with anxiety, momentarily unable to remember if everyone she loved was still alive.

She kept that to herself, though. Darcy Lewis played it cool and it would never due for anyone to find out that she thought of Jane as the sister she never had, of Thor as the annoying jock brother she never wanted, and of the Avengers as the dysfunctional family she could never do without.

"Ah...was I?" she decided it was best to admit nothing and chose to question Steve's alarming revelation that she was _moaning_ in her sleep instead.

"Yeah," Steve was completely earnest in his lack of carnal knowledge.

She made the mistake of glancing over Steve's shoulder at Tony; his grin was positively feral. Darcy fought the urge to whimper in defeat. She also really, _really_ wished Steve wouldn't sit so close to her on the edge of the couch. She could feel the heat radiating off of him and she was suddenly possessed with the mad desire to kiss him.

"Hey, Cap," Tony apparently decided it was time to take over; Darce didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved. "Why don't you go find Jane and Pepper and let them know we found Sleeping Beauty here?"

Jane and Pepper were looking for me?" Darcy clung desperately to the life-line Tony had so casually tossed her way.

She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the couch - careful, ever so careful, _not_ to brush up against Steve in the process. Darcy shook her head, letting her chestnut waves bounce with wild abandon across her shoulders, before reaching up and pulling them back against the nape of her neck. She grabbed the ponytail that she always kept around her right wrist and tried to bring some semblance of order to her sleep-tousled hair.

Steve was watching her; she could see him out of the corner of her eye, his brows knit together in concern. Darcy decided that he needed to be out of her personal space _yesterday_. The juncture of her thighs still tingled and the smell of the Old Spice aftershave he wore was slowly whittling away any form of sense she possessed.

_Gods_, she wanted to jump him.

"Yeah, they want to go Christmas shopping," Tony leaned his hip casually against the corner of the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. "Jane thought you should be included. Thoughtful, that one."

"Naw, she just knows that I know where all the good bargains are," Darcy quipped as she finally got to her feet.

She had to _move_, she had to get out of Steve's line of sight. He needed to stop _staring_.

"Please, if you ladies decide to pop some tags at Goodwill, leave me out of any thoughts of gift-giving," Tony threw his hands up in mock horror and made a show of eying Darcy's frumpy thrift-store sweater and bargain-rack scarf. "Unlike Macklemore, I don't do your grandpa's style."

"I understood about half of what you just said," Steve was finally distracted and he turned his gaze - _thank GAWD!_ - toward Tony. "So, that's about normal. But don't knock Goodwill. They're the only place with reasonable prices!"

Tony looked down his nose at Steve, just a smidgen supercilious. He crooked a dark eyebrow and then shook his head disparagingly.

"You leave yourself _wide open _for the grandpa jokes, Cap, I swear. Welcome to the 21st century, where the only thing you _might_ get for under a dollar is a can of store brand green beans."

"I don't leave myself wide open for 'grandpa jokes'," Steve scowled, defensive as he always was around the junior Stark. "I'm not a grandpa. I'd have to have a wife and kids for that to happen," he added with just a hint of bitterness.

"You'd have to have _sex_ for _any_ of the above to happen, actually," Tony shot him a level look.

Steve got to his feet in a huff. He shot Tony a look that clearly communicate his desire to shove Tony's face into the nearest surface and then turned stiffly toward the elevator door at the opposite end of the room.

"I'll go find Pepper and Jane," he nodded curtly toward Darcy, all concern now wiped from his face. "I'll tell 'em to meet you down in the atrium, Darce."

With that, he marched stiff-legged toward the elevator and in mere moments had disappeared behind the smooth steel doors. He kept his back toward Tony and Darcy the entire time; she could tell he was secretly seething over Tony's flippant words, by the tense set of his shoulders.

"What's with you and the interest in Captain America's love life?" Darcy couldn't help but stick up for Steve; she scowled at Tony as she grabbed her woolen cap from the over-large coffee table that stood between the couch and the enormous living room fireplace.

"You know, contrary to popular belief, I'm a humanitarian at heart," Tony pretended to look affronted and placed a hand melodramatically over his heart. "I'm merely looking out for the man's best interests! He's a walking cancer risk!"

"What?" Darcy squashed her cap on the top of her head and started looking around for her jacket.

She spared a moment to shoot Tony A Look.

"Ejaculation!" Tony proclaimed loudly and proudly; Darcy eyed him with a little bit of alarm. "It helps with that whole no prostate cancer thing."

"Besides the fact that Steve is _the_ prototypesuper soldier and incapable of getting _any_ kind of cancer…You're just gross," Darcy decided out loud, with considerable conviction.

She didn't need to think of Steve Rogers _ejaculating_. At all. In any context whatsoever. Nope. Nope. NO.

Tony's eyes gleamed sadistically.

"_Who_ was just having a sex dream on _my_ Italian leather couch?"

"You're also a shameless bastard," Darcy started to make a desperate beeline for the elevator.

"Actually, the only bastard in the room is you, so…"

Darcy stopped as suddenly as if she'd run into a wall and took several calming breaths through her nose, even as her fists clenched instinctually at her side.

"You really know how to sweet talk a girl," she finally shot him a sardonic look over her shoulder.

"So who were you dreaming about?" Tony was relentless; Darcy couldn't possibly fathom what had gotten into him, but he was acting worse than usual.

Her right hand twitched, as if it wanted to reach for the inside of empty her jacket pocket. Where was her damn taser when she needed it?

"None of your business," she tossed her head defiantly.

Tony gave her a look as if to say, "I think we both know who you were dreaming about." Mercifully, he didn't say it. She didn't think she could bear to hear him say it. Darcy did eye Tony a little more carefully - he was such a playboy-philanthropist-billionaire that she often forgot that he was also inconveniently observant.

Was it _really_ that obvious that she a crush on Captain America? Sure, she could never tear her eyes away from him when he strutted around in that damn skin-tight suit. And she was always cracking jokes and laughing when he was around. And she found every excuse under the sun to strike up a conversation with him. And she liked being around him. A lot.

"You want a suggestion about what to folks on the team want for Christmas?" Tony abruptly changed the topic yet again as he strolled by Darcy and hit the down button on the elevator.

"Sure," she narrowed her eyes cautiously at him.

"Clint wants a traditional Hungarian longbow - for what reason, I can't possibly fathom, except that he must be an avid collector of rare and ridiculously expensive archery equipment. Natasha wants something lacey and see-through - I think she's trying to make some moves on birdbrain," Tony waggled his fingers at Darcy and for a moment, she was tempted to laugh. "Bruce just wants _socks_, for some unfathomable reason. Thor could do with some high-end man-hair products. Jane wants a new Kindle Fire - which is rather ridiculous, when you think about it, because Bruce and I could build her something better from _scratch_. Oh, and I want my _home_ back to myself, but I don't think Fury's ever going to buy the idea."

Tony stopped and looked quite pleased with himself. Darcy, however, noted an absent name on the list and nearly grimaced as she knowingly stepped into the trap.

"And...Steve?"

"Steve?" Tony looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling and made a show of stroking his chin. "Steve should give up his virginity for Christmas."

"Should he do that at Lent? You give things _up_ at Lent. You _get_ things at Christmas. Ideally, you could give up at Lent what you got at Christmas," Darcy, who grew up Catholic, was quick on the quip.

"Allow me to rephrase," Tony's grin was wolfish. "Steve should _get_ laid on Christmas."

"And why are you telling _me_ this?" Darcy knew from the gleam in Tony's eyes that she was just digging her grave that much deeper.

And _why _was the damn elevator taking so long to open? Not that its arrival would do her any good, she mused. Tony would probably just follow her down, talking all the way.

"Because of all the ladies in our cozy little clique, you're the most available one. And probably the most uninhibited one, come to think of it," Tony pretended to look thoughtful again.

"Do I _look _like virgins are my MO?" Darcy made an equally convincing show of wrinkling her nose.

She wasn't actually lying. She preferred a man who knew what he was doing. But...she could make an exception…

"You look like _Captain America_ is your MO," Tony smirked; Darcy just gave him her best poker face.

"If you want Steve to get laid so damn much, then buy him an escort," Darcy was tiring of the conversation.

_Where was the ever-loving elevator?_

"You know as well as I do, he'd never go for that," Tony snorted through his nose. "Not to mention, he stares at your chest as much as you stare at his ass."

"What?" _that_ got Darcy's attention; she stared wide-eyed at her antagonist.

"You two are pathetic," Tony rolled his eyes. "Really. Everyone except the two of you know that you should both just fuck each other and get it over with."

"You and I usually get along just fine with the whole blunt thing, but I think you're going a bit far now," Darcy drew herself up to her full height - which wasn't much - and seriously considered just punching Iron Man in the face.

Tony seemed to sense he was in danger, which only made his smile wider.

"I dare you, Darcy Lewis, to seduce Captain America."

Oh, he didn't.

Darcy ground her teeth in frustration.

_I should ignore him. I should just walk away. He's baiting me...he knows it…_

She had never said "no" to a dare before. Ever. It just wasn't in her nature.

_Darcy Lewis, if you fall for this bullshit, so help me…!_

"You think I can't do it?" she couldn't help herself; she narrowed her eyes in challenge.

"I think you _won't _do it," Tony got right into her face and the two glared each other down. "Because for some unholy reason, you turn into Little Miss Righteous when it comes to Captain Steven Rogers," his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Afraid you'll like it?"

Actually yes, she was _terrified _that she would like sex with the glorious Captain America. And, that she'd get her heart broken because of it.

But, Tony Stark had no business knowing any of that. Darcy Lewis didn't show her weaknesses.

"You dare me?" she jutted her chin out stubbornly.

"I dare you," Tony affirmed with considerable conviction.

"Fine," Darcy practically spat the word; the elevator dinged softly behind them and she moved to walk around Tony.

She needed to get away from him, before he could see how deeply he had rattled her defenses and how strongly he had ruffled her pride.

"You've got twelve days," Tony spun neatly around his heel and waved sweetly to her as the elevator doors began to close between them. "And Steve Rogers better be late to Christmas breakfast, or I'm telling him what _really_ happened on the couch this afternoon."

Darcy didn't think she had ever loathed another human being quite so much, as she did at that moment.

She was going to taser his ass. _That's_ what Tony Stark was getting from her on Christmas morning. Pepper or no Pepper, Iron Man was getting a good jolt in the junk.


	2. First Day of Christmas

**Author's Note: **_SO MANY THANKS to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. **Maddieclaybourne**, **Violet Enigma**, **Hey JayBay**, **hushpuppy22**, and** lakessler**...you all rock! Thank you so much! This chapter is for you! ;-)_

_Also, I'll be alternating between Steve's POV and Darcy's POV, each chapter, that way, you Dear Reader can get a more comprehensive "view" of the story. This chapter is from Steve's POV, the next one will be from Darcy's POV, etc etc._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"_Staring at the bottom of your glass,_

_Hoping one day you'll make a dream last._

_But dreams come slow and they go fast."_

"**Let Her Go"**

**Passenger**

* * *

Steve Rogers wasn't the sort of man to go spoiling for a fight. Contrary to his Captain America persona, he wasn't particularly interested in constant conflict and aggression. Sure, there was still the scrawny kid from Brooklyn inside, who didn't back down from a fight if it involved a bully. And Tony Stark was – in Steve's humble opinion – the worst kind of bully.

Brilliant, wealthy, and arrogant. Steve had to wonder if Tony had been the sort of kid who used to stuff other students in their lockers and steal their lunch money just for the kicks of it. Because, _really_, what other reason would Stark have for making fun of another man's sex life (or, rather, lack of it), except that he was a bully who enjoyed belittling the "lesser guy".

It never occurred to Steve that maybe, just maybe, Tony was a little more perceptive than everyone gave him credit for and that he was genuinely interested in pushing other people out of their comfort zones. Of course, Tony's methods for doing so left a lot to be desired in the way of acceptable social norms…

Steve caught up with Jane and Pepper in the atrium and let them know that Darcy would be coming momentarily. He then made himself scarce. The only solution for his frustration was a punching bag, so he took himself to Stark Tower's state-of-the-art gym, which took up an entire floor all on its own. Tony frequently complained about how many punching bags Steve went through, but at the moment, Captain America was beyond giving a damn. If it hadn't been 12 days before Christmas, he would have beat the streets in an attempt to blow off some of his steam, but he didn't feel like fighting the crowds.

He also wasn't really into Christmas. There were just too many memories of spending the holiday season on the front lines, trying to beat the Red Skull to his next hapless civilian target. There were just too many memories of trying desperately not to say goodbye to Peggy over the radio.

Also, Steve _really_ hated the snow and the cold. He could still remember, in perfect clarity, the bone-numbing kiss of hypothermia as he drifted off to a deep sleep beneath the Arctic ice. The very memory of it made him shudder compulsively in the nearly-stifling warmth of Stark Tower. It was warm enough in the building to walk around barefoot, but the thought of what he had once endured was enough to make him shiver.

With those thoughts in mind, Steve made short work of his first punching bag. Thor and Bruce, after watching Steve work his way through half a dozen punching bags in one session alone, had thoughtfully stacked an entire _wall_ full of bags for him. Tony had promptly complained about having half of his gym taken over by boxing equipment, but when Steve had busted a bag open right in front of him after only three or four punches, Tony backed off of the issue.

The gym had become Steve's sanctuary; none of the Avengers spent as much time in there as him. While there was plenty of new equipment there to confuse him, the boxing ring stayed the same. Some things were timeless – himself apparently included – and the satisfying thunk of fist-to-punching-bag was the same as he remembered. This was where Steve came to ground himself, when he was overwhelmed by the strangeness of the world around him. He came here when Tony put his teeth on edge, when Thor reminded him one too many times of his alien origins, when all the gidgets and gadgets of S.H.I.E.L.D rendered him incompetent.

It was also where he came when Darcy confused him – which was alarmingly often. It used to be that just _women_, as a blanket entity, confounded Steve. Now, he was beginning to realize to his very great chagrin, that there was just _one_ woman who turned him back into the blushing, stammering, asthmatic fool from Brooklyn. He had observed the phenomena when Peggy had stolen his heart – when he was obsessing about just one particular dame, all the others seemed infinitely less intimidating.

He realized he was falling for Darcy, when he could talk to Jane without staring at her shoes, when he could complain to Pepper about Tony (a topic they oddly had in common), and when he could ask Natasha to pass the salt at the dinner table without promptly dropping it into the pot roast. It was if all his awkwardness was gradually redirected to one long-haired, brunette, nonstop-talking _whirlwind_. Thankfully, Darcy had a unique quality that made Steve's complete incompetence around the fairer sex so much easier to hide than it had been in the past.

Darcy _never shut up_. From morning to dusk, she was the Avenger's resident chatterbox. _Everything_ was worthy of her running commentary – like the way Thor burned the toast in the morning (there were moments when Thor never failed to make look Captain America look like the consummate modern man and for that, Steve privately blessed him). She commented on the way Tony and Bruce could say one thing, which would in turn send Jane reeling off down the wondrous path of scientific discovery in a completely different direction. Darcy commented on the food, on Stark Tower, on the news, on senseless internet trivia, on the size of Hawkeye's biceps. She talked, so Steve hardly ever had to open his mouth.

Except, when it came to baseball, or history, or the arts – Steve could hold his own in those conversations, most particularly because Darcy was just into that sort of stuff in a way no other dame Steve knew or had known had been. She had grown up with a grandfather who had played in the minor leagues – so she knew about baseball from Steve's own time and she was kind enough to fill him in on the 70-or-odd years since he'd last watched a game. She loved history – although, most of her interest lay in political history, but Steve wasn't splitting hairs. And while Darcy admitted that she couldn't even draw a straight line, much less _paint_, she did love music.

She won his heart the day he caught her singing "Rhum and Coca Cola" completely off-tune, at the top of her lungs, while cleaning Jane's lab equipment. That, really, was the start of their friendship – when he found out that Darcy had a secret love of what she called "vintage music". They had spent numerous evenings since, huddled conspiratorially in a corner of the Stark Tower living room, listening to a wide mix of music which included a good selection of what Steve had grown up with, along with a healthy assortment of what Darcy called "Oldies". While Steve still hadn't decided if he could tolerate anything sung after 1970, he had pleasantly discovered, with Darcy's guidance, a certain fondness for the Four Tops, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Frankie Valley, Elvis, the Beatles, and Johnny Cash.

They were currently trying to gauge Steve's interest in Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn, and Hank Williams Sr. While Steve appreciated Darcy's dedication to broadening his musical horizons, he hadn't quite yet decided if "Country" was something he could tolerate for long periods of time. He was starting to suspect, however, that part of his aversion had to do with his own inability to comprehend anything after 1969. Darcy loved to tease him, but no…Captain America could not wrap his head around "drugs, sex, and rock and roll."

Although, he would have gladly wrapped himself around a certain curvy, vivacious, blue-eyed brunette. While his thoughts in the beginning on the matter were mostly nebulous, Steve had wondered on more than one occasion what it would be like to pull Darcy's body tight against his own, to feel her curves press gently into his harder angles.

His thoughts had apparently betrayed him at some point, because after Darcy went yawning off to bed one night, Clint had materialized next to Steve with a faint smirk and a book.

"Its old-school," was all he said as he handed the faded paperback over to a deeply puzzled Steve. "But consider it a good introduction."

"It" had turned out to be a singularly scandalous novel titled "Lady Chatterley's Lover." The first time Steve realized what comprised a significant portion of the book, he had dropped it next to his bed in complete and indescribable dismay; he had also had a hard time looking Clint in the eye for several weeks afterwards. However, curiosity and pride got the better of him – Steve had never _not_ finished a book once he had started reading – and he slowly worked through the rest of the book, wondering the whole way if he was dooming himself to an eternity in Purgatory one inappropriate word at a time.

Clint, however, had been correct – "Lady Chatterley's Lover", while scandalous enough on its own, proved a sufficient gateway to Captain America's moral undoing. Ideas that were less murky than before, began to dominate Steve's thoughts, most especially in the evenings after Darcy had gone to bed. Those thoughts followed him straight into his _own_ bed and he started to contemplate the inexcusable – taking release from his thoughts into his own two hands.

He had pleasured himself before, as a boy, but only a handful of times (no pun intended), mostly in his later teenage years. He had been raised a good Catholic man, with a healthy dose of good Catholic guilt. He had been raised not to sully himself or a good, virtuous woman, with such base, immoral thoughts. Thoughts lead to actions, after all, and it wouldn't just stop with himself – eventually, those thoughts and actions would lead to a pregnancy outside of marriage and then where would he be? Caught in sin, he'd been told on more than one occasion. And for Steve, it wasn't so much that he'd get _himself_ caught up in impropriety – it was the thought that he'd get someone _else_ caught up in a mistake that was only supposed to be his own. So, his experiences with masturbation were few and far between – just brief, guilty affairs that ended in a momentary respite from the worst of his urges and a sticky mess. He would then sneak into the nearest bathroom to wash off, and pray the entire time that no one would catch him with the evidence of his baser impulses all over his hands.

However, waking up after 70 years on ice, had put things into a very different perspective. The woman Steve would have gladly saved himself for was Peggy…and her fate was one of the very first things that he had asked Fury about. The blow had been hard to take at first – Peggy had died a year before he had been discovered. She had died a single woman, childless, and searching for him until the very end. But, there was only so much time he could spend mourning the past; Peggy was gone and even if she hadn't been, she would have been well into her 90s by now. Steve mourned her, mourned the things they could have had together…but he had to move on.

He just didn't expect himself to "move on" in the direction of Darcy Lewis.

And, if nothing else, Tony's uncouth reminders of what Steve didn't have served to remind him that he was still, impossibly, in the prime of his youth. 70 years had passed and he was just as young as he'd been when the Red Skull's bomber had gone down into the Arctic. Steve still had all the urges of his age, still had all the desires he had fallen asleep with, and still had the capacity to physically and mentally appreciate a good-looking dame.

And oh, Darcy was as good-looking as they got, with a personality to match.

As Steve's attraction to her grew, so did his private boldness. A sheepish investigation of Tony's enormous library uncovered a section of books in a half-forgotten corner that were far more explicit than "Lady Chatterley's Lover". It took Steve a few weeks to get over his own personal sense of scandal, but after that had passed, he was left with very little doubt about what he wanted.

He wanted to run his fingers through her chestnut hair; he wanted to see if it was truly as soft as it looked. He wanted to shut her up halfway through a sentence, with a firm kiss on those pouty lips. He wanted to feel her witty tongue against his skin; he wanted to taste her. He wanted to wrap them both up in his sheets and stay curled around each other for hours on end.

Steve knew nothing of the mechanics of such things, but he had a general idea, thanks to Clint and his revolutionary audacity. And what he knew only in theory, he was fairly certain he would learn quickly with practical application …and with Darcy, Steve was sure that practical application would be _fun_. Darcy always made everything _fun_. It was such a large part of her appeal. Steve often felt as if he were Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. But, when Darcy was part of that equation, the responsibility of being the First Avenger was half as onerous.

He would gladly carry the weight of the world, as long as it included the incorrigible Darcy Lewis.

She haunted him, he wanted her. That's what the punching bags were for, since he couldn't bring himself to dare or hope he could have her. Sexual awareness, desire, stretched lazily through Steve's veins and crawled purposefully beneath his skin. The only way he knew to exorcise his desire, was to sweat.

And Lord so help him, he tried not to think about Darcy Lewis while he did.

* * *

"Hey, Steve."

Her voice distracted him from his book. In any moment that he could spare, Captain America could be found with his nose stuck in a book. There was just so much information to take in…so much to learn, to know in order to survive in this brave new world…and the least threatening way to open up his horizons was to read. Natasha had tried introducing both Thor and Steve to Google, but Steve had quickly overwhelmed himself with the sheer amount of _information_ that had been presented to him online. He had quickly decided that books were infinitely safer and less likely to give him a headache.

"Hey, Darcy," he set his book down on top of the table and smiled hopefully at Darcy as she plopped down in the chair across from him.

Women were decidedly less lady-like in the modern age, but Steve decided he didn't mind that about Darcy. He had no one to compare her to, really, and she was so far removed from Peggy's ageless poise, that it had been surprisingly easy to accept Darcy for who she was.

Darcy didn't answer right away and Steve was momentarily distracted by the way she chewed her bottom lip. She wore something called "lip gloss", which wasn't as brightly colored as lipstick, but left a light shimmery sheen on the lips that was intriguing all the same. His eyes fixated on the way she sucked her full bottom lip behind her teeth and worried it back and forth as she frowned thoughtfully at him. It took a moment or two for Steve to actually meet Darcy's straightforward gaze and her look of perplexed concentration took him by surprise.

"Darcy?" he prompted cautiously.

She looked as if she'd been thinking hard about something all day. He hadn't seen her since that morning, but come to think of it, Darcy had been acting a little preoccupied since he had shaken her awake on the couch. He thought it was a little weird – Darcy wasn't usually so careful with her thoughts, usually preferring to spill her inner dialogue out for the whole world to hear. He raised a thick blond eyebrow and tried not to panic.

He had no idea how to break a woman out of her reverie. Indeed, there was a part of him that rather suspected such a thing was unspeakably rude. And since Darcy didn't usually sit so still and so obviously deep in thought, he didn't want to interrupt her until she was ready to divulge. Still...the silence was more awkward than normal and Steve started to squirm.

"Do you wanna' go see a movie?" Darcy finally blurted and he was so relieved at first that he spoke before thinking.

"Sure!"

Steve's words caught up with him, though, and he promptly snapped his mouth shut.

Wait…she had asked _him_ out to the movies? Wasn't _he_ supposed to ask her out to the movies? Was this a date? It was date back in his day…you didn't ask a girl out to the movies unless you were her brother or trying to court her. Clearly, times had changed, if a woman could so blatantly request such a thing and not blush in embarrassment.

Apparently, men and women going out to the movies together was a normal, everyday thing. Steve felt a little foolish…and he also felt that _he_ should have been the first one to ask about the movies, since its meaning would have made more sense, at least to himself.

At least, if _he_ asked _Darcy_ out to the movies, he would have known it was a date. Come to think of it…he'd been sort of trying to figure out how to ask her out to the movies anyway. It'd been there, in the back of his mind as a half-baked plan for about two weeks, but as usual, Darcy had beaten him to the punch.

"Awesome," Darcy barreled along at full speed, oblivious to Steve's internal quandary. "There's a new Disney movie out. I'm not really into Disney movies, but I figured it would be the least likely thing to shock you. You've heard of Disney, right?" her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Um…" Steve wracked his mind and then nodded whole heartedly, as the memories came flooding back to him. "Yeah! Walt Disney, right?"

Warmth spread through him at the sight of Darcy's crooked smile.

"Yup! That's the one!"

"He's still making those cartoon movies?" Steve wondered in something akin to awe.

"Oh, yea," Darcy shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, not _Walt_ himself so much – he died in the 60s – but his corporation. It's a big business, Disney. They've got movies, theme parks, merchandise…!"

"Theme parks?" Steve stumbled over the unfamiliar word; Darcy just shot him an inscrutable look.

"Remind me to Google Disney World for you some time," she tapped the top of the table with her open palms. "It'll blow your mind."

Steve nearly swallowed his tongue. His recent clandestine research had broadened his mind, along with his vocabulary – the idea of Darcy "blowing his mind" conjured up visions of something altogether different than what she actually meant.

"You okay, Cap?" she leaned forward across the table and peered at him in concern. "You look funny all of a sudden."

"Oh, nothing," Steve shifted guiltily in his seat; he would _not_ think of Darcy's head bobbing between his thighs. "I'm fine."

She gave him a look that clearly conveyed her doubt; he cleared his throat and awkwardly tried to get the conversation moving again.

"So…um…I've seen all the Disney movies. Well," he paused, grimaced, and sheepishly amended. "All of the ones that came out before I went on ice," Steve paused again, then perked a bit as he remembered his favorites. "I really liked _Snow White_ and _Dumbo_. _Pinocchio_ was fun, but I didn't like it as much as the others. And _Bambi _was just _depressing_."

"You're seriously talking old school," Darcy laughed and the two both relaxed; she was still acting a little on edge, but Steve took a deep breath and told himself that everything would be fine, regardless of whatever she had on her mind.

She was probably just nervous about asking him out to the movies. He knew he would, were the roles reversed…

"We've had a few Disney movies since then," she added wryly.

"Oh? Like how many?" Steve leaned forward in interest.

"Oh, geez, hundreds, easy," Darcy laughed again and waved her hand dismissively, as if _hundreds_ of movies wasn't a big thing.

Then again, after 70 years, Steve figured Disney had had _plenty_ of time to monopolize the market.

"This newest one is supposed to be really good. Female empowerment and all that," she practically bounced in her chair – Darcy did that from time to time.

It was quite endearing…and a bit distracting. Steve forced himself not to fixate on her chest. Frumpy sweater or no, he'd noticed her breast for a while and they had a mind of their own. For one, they wouldn't just lay demurely beneath her scarves and relatively modest clothing. Oh, no…they just _had_ to call attention to themselves. Steve had often caught himself wondering how much of them would fit into his hands.

"Er…'female empowerment'?" he blinked owlishly as he tried to place the term. "Like…suffragettes?"

"Oh, geez," Darcy rolled her eyes. "You are so behind the times. 'Female empowerment'…like me tasing Iron Man in the junk."

"What?" Steve thought his eyes couldn't possibly get any wider.

Since when did Darcy have it in for Tony Stark?

"Oh, nothing," she seemed to have realized what she said and a fine blush crept across her nose; she suddenly seemed incapable of looking him in the eye. "Tony just pissed me off earlier."

"What'd he do?" Steve immediately felt the rush of male protectiveness surge to the forefront of his mood.

It was one thing for Tony Stark to needle and embarrass _him_. But to turn that insufferable lack of respect on a dame? Unacceptable.

"Oh, nothing," Darcy looked, if anything, rather alarmed at the shift in Steve's expression.

She hastily waved her hand between them and shook her head. Her ponytail bounced from shoulder to shoulder and Steve silently swore at himself. Why couldn't he stay _focused_ around her?

"Really, Steve, it's nothing," she insisted, even as he opened his mouth to press the issue further.

She stood up and motioned to him imploringly. Her mouth curved upward in a hopeful smile and for just a second, Steve imagined that this is what she'd look like inviting him to bed – shy, yet determined.

"Movie's in an hour. We can walk to the nearest theater in thirty, if you don't mind the cold. Popcorn on me?"

No…with Darcy at his side, Steve Rogers did not mind the cold. Not one blessed bit.

* * *

"I invited you, _let me pay_."

Prides were butting against each other outside the movie theater, as their breath froze in the air between them. Darcy had her feet planted stubbornly, her hands on her hips, her chin jutted out stubbornly as she stared up at him. Steve was eyeing the ticket counter behind her and figuring out how best to reach over her head and pass his twenty bucks to the clerk.

"Nope," he was determined to out-stubborn her.

"Seriously, Steve," Darcy stomped her foot impatiently.

He stared at her, trying so hard not to laugh.

"Did you just _stomp your foot_ at me?"

"Damn straight," she hissed, blue eyes blazing as she now crossed her arms over her chest. "Now stop being a chauvinistic Neanderthal."

"Where I'm from, it's called being _chivalrous_," Steve corrected her primly.

People were starting to stare, but neither one of them really cared. They were locked in a battle of wills and neither one seemed likely to concede defeat.

"Newsflash, Cap, this is the 21st century, where women are fully capable of buying their own damn movie tickets."

"Women in my day were completely capable of doing the exact same thing," Steve countered smoothly, his voice as sweet as honey. "But there was this thing called _manners_ back then, where when a man _offered_, a woman _accepted_."

"That's not manners, that's social conditioning!" Darcy looked about as scandalized as Steve felt; really, when did paying for the movies become such a battle of the sexes?

"So help me, Darcy, if you don't get out of my way, I will throw you over my shoulder. You can't fight me when you're looking at the ground."

Steve was not normally so rough, so authoritarian, when it came to women – actually, he was usually tongue-tied and embarrassingly awkward – but Darcy had a way of bringing the dominance out of him. In truth, he couldn't think of any other way around her foot stomping insistence, so he resorted to the most shocking thing he could think of to say. Unfortunately, it shocked _him_, too, and the two ended up staring at each other in mute surprise.

He couldn't read the expression on Darcy's face; it wasn't one he had ever seen before, so every bit of Steve's confidence evaporated miserably. Embarrassed – people really _were_ staring, now – he nudged her feebly toward the ticket counter.

"Fine," he mumbled and tried to fight the heat that he could feel pooling at the top of his ears. "You pay for the movie."

Darcy didn't say a word – she just gave him an unfathomable look and meekly turned around to present her card to the clerk. Steve stared stonily ahead and refused to meet anyone's gaze – this was _not_ going the way he had imagined. Why couldn't she have just accepted his offer to pay for the damn tickets?

However, Steve didn't go down without a fight. While he kept his distance during Darcy's transaction, he made it a point to lean over and whisper in her ear as he stubbornly beat her to the door.

"Fine. You win," he held the door closed, even as Darcy tried to tug it open.

The look she gave him could have killed. Steve couldn't help feel a little surge of vindication as she finally gave up on opening the door herself and crossed her arms stubbornly over her bulky jacket.

He smiled sweetly and opened the door, gesturing gallantly for her to go through first. The tone of his next words did not invite argument and he was thankful when she silently sailed past him, her lips pursed, but without a peep of protest.

"_I'm_ getting the popcorn."

* * *

The movies had gotten _expensive_. Steve reflected quietly as the theater filled up around them. Between the two of them, they had spent almost $40 on a few hours of mindless entertainment; he remembered when half of a dollar would pay for a whole _afternoon_ at the movies. Of course, Darcy had explained the economics of modern America, so he understood inflation, and raises in income relative to the demand of goods…but _still_.

Forty bucks? That was ridiculous. He didn't even want to reminiscent about what $40 could have gotten him 70 years ago. That was practically a lower enlisted man's entire monthly military allowance.

As the theater dimmed in preparation for the previews, Steve wondered how much it would cost to actually take Darcy to dinner. He quickly decided that he would rather not reflect on such a luxury. For one, he _highly_ doubted Darcy would want to be taken on a night around the town by a man who so very clearly did _not_ share her feminist values. For another, he thought he might be so overwhelmed by the price of food alone that the idea would probably die the minute he tried to figure out where to take her.

He squirmed in his chair and tried to get comfortable. Darcy hadn't spoken to him since their battle of wills at the ticket counter. In retrospect, Steve mused, he probably shouldn't have threatened to throw her over his shoulder like some sort of unevolved caveman. At least she didn't know that that was rather a favorite fantasy of his. If she knew how much he wanted to feel her squirm against him, the round curve of her ass cupped in one of his hands…well, she probably wouldn't want to ever talk to him again. And if she knew how much he wanted to throw her down on his bed and ravish her (or, at least, figure out _how_ to ravish her)…he slid a sideways glance at Darcy's profile, which was flickering in the light of the first trailer. Oh, yeah. She'd rightly call him an old pervert and that would be the end of one of the only real friendships he had managed to make since waking up.

They didn't touch for most of the movie and after a while, Steve forgot about the awkward silence that had fallen between them. Animated movies had definitely upped the sensory overload since he was a kid – hell, he could remember when _The Wizard of Oz_ had debuted as the first full-length feature film in Technicolor. What unfolded in front of him on the Silver Screen was nothing short of _decadent_. He had to close his mouth repeatedly through the course of the film, because his ability to believe the complexity of what he was watching was tested about every five minutes.

He didn't understand how the relatively "simple", hand-drawn Disney movies of his day had evolved into _this_, but he _loved_ it. Oh, and the songs were catchy, the story good – as one of the main female characters whirled about in the snow and proclaimed her independence to the mountains, he could see what Darcy meant by "female empowerment."

As Darcy would say, he could dig it. All the women he had ever known were equally brave and strong, just perhaps in different ways in the context of their own times. In fact, the inherent strength of women was one of the reasons why he had always found himself tripping over his words in their presence.

He never _had_ gotten over Molly Hannigan busting the spine of her mathematics book over his head in grammar school, for sticking gum in her hair on a dare. For the remainder of his education, she had a habit of throwing things at him whenever he worked up the courage to try and apologize. Ever since then, he had firmly believed that no matter what he said or did, he would inevitably wind up on the receiving end of a woman's wrath. He decided later on in life that facing down the Red Skull was a preferable (and more easily understandable) fate.

Needless to say, then, he was rather shocked when halfway through the movie, Darcy made a rather clumsy show of stretching. Instead of crossing her right arm back over her chest, it landed in false bravado along the top of his seat, behind his shoulders. As enthralled as he was by the film, Steve was sufficiently distracted enough to look over at Darcy in mute surprise. She was staring resolutely ahead, her face completely impassive in the light of the screen.

Darcy didn't do impassive.

She _had_ to be up to something.

Steve sat in momentary indecision for a moment. Never in his whole life, had a woman been so forward. Except, maybe, for that secretary who had kissed him that one time without any invitation whatsoever. He never admitted it to Peggy, but that bold little blond had been a pretty good kisser.

Not that he'd had any point of reference at that point. Peggy had been infinitely better, in retrospect.

But, this was no wanton blond and certainly not Peggy. This was Darcy, with her arm around exactly half of his shoulders. He had to stifle a sudden snicker; Darcy was too small to get her arm the whole way around his back. It was kind of cute, actually. He, on the other hand, could have pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around her with plenty of extra to spare.

After a moment's hesitation, he leaned over toward her and whispered, his voice unintentionally husky –

"You know, that's sort of _my_ move."

Good God, what had gotten into him? It wasn't like him to be quite so bold.

"Well, I didn't see you trying to make any moves. You snooze, you lose, pal."

Good God, what had gotten into _her_? Steve stared at Darcy in amazement; her arm stayed resolutely behind him, but he thought he could see something like uncertainty flash across her profile.

She still wouldn't look at him. So, he tried to reassure her and reached out to pat her knee. Unfortunately, as soon as his hand came in contact with her body, it stayed put. He didn't mean to let his fingers squeeze around her thigh, just above her kneecap, but they did. And they stayed stubbornly there, even when his mind yelled at him to show some _blessed decorum, for the love of God_.

They stayed like that for the rest of the movie, her arm around his shoulder, his hand just above her knee. They were both tense, but Steve couldn't help thinking that it was a _good_ tense (did such a thing exist?). Something like anticipation unfurled between them and he had to remember to breath.

The walk back to Stark Tower still carried a tinge of awkwardness, but Darcy seemed to be over whatever had made her sit like stone for the first half of the movie. She made some witty remarks about the film; Steve laughed. She slipped on a patch of black ice and he ended up catching her. _That_ was an awkward moment, when their noses were mere inches apart for a few breathless seconds. But then she found her feet beneath her and they carried on as if nothing happened.

She did tuck her hand into the crook of his arm. They walked like that almost the entire way back and for once, Steve didn't mind the cold.

The night had been awkward-awful-amazing. It made Steve smile to himself as he watched Darcy shake snow out of her hair once they had reached the warmth of what they both now called "home". He didn't really understand where the sudden moves in the movie theater had come from, but he wasn't complaining. For some inscrutable reason, Darcy seemed to be letting her guard down around him.

She wasn't a touchy-feely sort of person; definitely not the sort to just put her arm randomly around someone in the middle of a movie. Steve didn't know much about womanly quirks, but he understood _people_ and he intuitively knew that for all her talk, Darcy didn't really open up to others. In fact, he was pretty sure that was_ why_ she talked so much – so no one would notice the way she kept the world at arm's length.

So, she shocked him even further when they stepped off the elevator and she turned to him to announce her desire to go to bed.

"Is it that late?" Steve glanced at his wrist in surprise.

They had stepped out of the elevator at the common area level – where the living room and kitchen were located – but Darcy was already sidling back toward the closed doors. The room in front of them was empty however, and Steve realized just how late it was when he eyed his watch.

"Well, it's only ten or so…but you know, I'm convinced S.H.I.E.L.D has an unspoken curfew at 9:30. At least, _I_ do. I turn into a pumpkin at ten, I swear," she yawned again as she mashed her thumb against the elevator's up button.

"Yeah, I'm right behind you, actually," Steve admitted; his stomach growled though and he had to laugh. "Though, it looks like I'm making a detour to the kitchen, first."

"Well," he didn't realize it until it was too late, but Darcy took a step toward him as she spoke. "Come here, big guy."

She _hugged_ him. Steve was rendered completely speechless and for a second, he was immobilized in shock. But, then deeply ingrained habits took over and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a silent expression of approval.

"Had fun at the movies," Darcy mumbled into his shirt; Steve got goose pimples where her breath gently pressed the cotton into his skin.

The hug was brief, but it shook Steve to his very core. He had a fleeting impression of her warmth, her curves, pressed gently against him and he suddenly didn't want to let go. Images of throwing her over his shoulder returned, but in a moment of adult wisdom, he decided that would probably solicit a response rather like Molly Hannigan's in the third grade. As that was precisely _not_ what he was looking for in his relationship with Darcy, he left his urges at a brief tightening of his arms around her slighter body. He also resisted the urge to press a kiss against the top of her head, so he settled with nuzzling her hair ever so briefly. He wasn't even sure she noticed; her body was tense beneath his fingertips and he knew that as impulsive as the action might have been, prolonged contact with him was making her uncomfortable.

They broke the hug easily enough, however, and while the tips of Darcy's ears were a suspicious shade of red, there didn't seem to be any inherent awkwardness between them. Steve could have kissed her.

"We should do it again sometime," she graced him with a cheeky grin and wiggled her fingers playfully at him as she stepped into the elevator.

"Night, Darcy," he finally found his voice, just as the elevator doors were closing.

"Night, Steve," her voice reached him, even as the doors slid shut.

He thought he heard her say something else, but whatever it was, was swallowed up by several thick inches of steel (Tony believed elevators were a defensive blind-side and armored them appropriately. Steve thought the measure was mildly ridiculous when one had a J.A.R.V.I.S and a Hulk.) He stared stupidly at the elevator doors for several moments, as dumbfounded as if she had reached up and kissed him.

After a few moments, Steve's blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully and the warm-fuzzy feelings abated ever so slightly.

Darcy was up to something.


	3. Second Day of Christmas

**Author's Note:** _The last few weeks have been C-R-A-Z-Y, so I haven't been able to update like I was hoping to...but I met my goal of getting a new chapter posted by New Year (CST, USA). Happy New Year's, ya'll! Hope your 2014 is the best year yet! :)_

* * *

"_I've got my ticket for the long way 'round,_

_The one with the prettiest of views._

_It's got mountains, it's got rivers,_

_It's got sights to give you shivers,_

_But it sure would be prettier with you."_

"_Cups"_

_**Anna Kendrick**_

* * *

Darcy promptly starting obsessing about Captain America's body.

Mind you, it was just a hug – a simple, innocent, unassuming hug. But, it had wreaked havoc on her senses. It was impossible to hug a man like that and _not_ obsess over the finer details of what was felt. Or, so Darcy assured herself in the privacy of her own bed.

It had only lingered for a moment, but it had been returned (however awkwardly) and that had been enough for Darcy's physical senses to be totally overloaded. She had escaped as quickly as possible and beat a hasty retreat to the elevator in order to spare her dignity, but the damage had been done.

She had leaned against the cool metal walls of the elevator and swooned. She could still feel the hardness of his body pressed up against hers; the contact had been light and it seemed all the more damning because of it. The memory teased her – tantalizing and provocative in its brevity. She had felt his warmth – she now knew what she had long suspected, and that was Steve's body temperature was higher than that of the average person – and it had seared her to the bone, right through her clothes, right through her skin. His warmth lingered on her and Darcy had been half-tempted to press the side of her face or her forehead against the elevator wall – anything to lower her own temperature.

The scent of his aftershave lingered in her nose. Darcy had also smelled _him_, that warm, musky, comforting scent that was all Steve. He smelled a bit like metal, a bit like sweat, a bit like Irish Spring and Pert. But mostly, he smelled like something undefinable that was simply "Steve". He smelled clean, like Irish Spring and Pert. He smelled like a memory half-forgotten; she couldn't quite name his scent, but Steve Rogers reminded her of a sense of safety, of belonging. His scent attracted her and wrapped her in a charming allure that she wanted always around her. The scent of him made her fall for him even harder.

"Get a grip, Darcy," she moaned to herself, now in bed and safely tucked away from any prying ears.

There was no grip to be had, however. The hug itself didn't necessarily replay itself incessantly inside of her head, but the sensations from her bold interaction did. Steve had been so hard, his body so unforgiving beneath her curves. Darcy grabbed her spare pillow – really, did she need a queen-sized bed when it was just her? – and muffled her next groan of desperation into its fluffy substance.

That brief contact with him had left her aching. Really, all she'd wanted to do was to climb up his body, wrap her legs around his waist, and kiss him breathless. It left her hot and bothered, too, to know that Steve was strong enough to support that sort of impetuous gymnastic endeavor on his person. Captain America wouldn't need a wall to help him support Darcy Lewis' more lusty adventures – oh, no. He could simply widen that stance of his, dig his heels into the ground, tighten those long, lean leg muscles, and just take her standing. No effort whatsoever.

And Dear Lord in Heaven, Darcy shouldn't have even thought the words "take her" to herself. Pressing a pillow into her face and squeezing her eyes shut did nothing to alleviate the image that flashed through her mind at the thought of Steve "taking" her. It was not necessarily a coherent thought – it certainly didn't involve any sort of detail and was really just a flash of sensation and the briefest of images, unformed and primal – but it was enough to make her think that her sanity might be permanently compromised.

Her. Him. In a shower. Together. Naked. Hot, steaming water. Soapy, sliding bodies. Steve standing with his legs spread firmly apart. Her in his ridiculously muscled arms, her own arms around his ridiculously muscled shoulders, her small hands trying desperately to hold on for dear life. Not that she needed to, because he had a firm, stable grip on her ass. Him inside her. Kissing. Friction. Movement. Moaning.

"Argh!" Darcy practically shouted in frustration.

Thankfully, her pillow all but silenced her inarticulate expression of hormonal futility. The last thing she needed was J.A.R.V.I.S mistaking her cry for one of fear and sending all of the Avengers crashing into her room in a fit of protective fury. Tony would be insufferable, Steve would thankfully, mercifully remained politely confused, but Thor would be the worst. The absolute worst. It would be like getting caught mid coitus by one's older brother.

Come to think of that… Darcy lowered her pillow just enough so that she could peer thoughtfully at the high, white-washed ceiling above her. How would that play out? Thor and her and Steve? Jane wasn't a worry, since, for an astro-physicist, Jane was surprisingly earthy. She would probably encourage a physical relationship and probably (embarrassingly) celebrate it on Darcy's (bemused) behalf. Thor on the other hand…

Steve was, by a rather ironic default, one of Thor's better friends on the team. While the Asgaardian was better able to accept the technical advances of the 21st century – he was, after all, completely and utterly comfortable with inter-dimensional space travel – he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the finer points of a toaster. And Thor with a loaded weapon? Puh-lease. In a moment of insatiable curiosity, he had nearly taken Hawkeye out permanently (Clint had later retaliated by "accidentally" putting an arrow through Thor's foot when the Asgaardian wasn't looking. Which was a rather low blow, but it drove home the point – no pun intended – that Thor had no business on any end of an AR-57). Cap, on the other hand, could not only work a toaster, but knew better than to point a gun at anyone without the intent to kill or seriously disable. Steve also never had to be told not to throw his coffee mug on the floor, knew enough to steer clear of small women with an attitude (with or without tasers), and had a fairly well-informed opinion of major league baseball teams.

The two evened each other out. Thor could surf the web without being overloaded by its possibilities, Steve could maneuver through everyday Midgaardian life without leaving behind the impression that he had escaped from a mental institution. As a result, the two had established an easy sort of camaraderie – Steve kept Thor from drawing too much attention to himself in public, Thor found inventive ways to explain modern science in a manner that didn't make Steve defensive. Without ever making a big deal out of it, or even appearing to be particularly buddy-buddy (like Tony and Bruce), the two men-out-time looked out for each other.

It further complicated things by the fact that you could take the man out of Asgaard, but you couldn't take Asgaard out of the man. Thor thought in terms of "family" and took those terms very seriously. Jane was, unequivocally, "family" in Thor's way of reckoning and to her he showed supreme loyalty (as if leaving the throne of Asgaard forever wasn't proof enough). This loyalty – and inherent protectiveness – also extended to those Thor had first met in Midgaard along with Jane. Namely, Erik and Darcy. Erik came and went, refusing to be placed permanently in S.H.I.E.L.D's employment after being virtually Vulcan mind-melded by Loki, but Darcy had happily been bought for the price of a five-digit salary (at a range much higher than she could hope for as a political science grad student), government benefits (nothing to sneeze at, for sure), and job security (barring death-by-alien-invasion). So, it was to Darcy that Thor extended much of his brotherly affections. It also didn't help that she was a non-combatant, a civilian, and a woman; Darcy was no Sif and if Steve's outdated ideas of masculine duty rubbed her the wrong way, Thor's could be positively medieval.

For the most part, Thor wasn't (too) overbearing; if he got to be too much, Darcy would tartly remind him of who had struck him down with "lightening" within mere moments of first arriving to Midgaard. But, that didn't stop him from fussing over her like the brother she never wanted – where did she go when she went out? Did the other Avengers treat her politely? Had anyone ever done her wrong? Did she know how to defend herself? Did she always and without fail always keep her "lightening device" on her when she went out alone?

And, ad infinitum. Darcy was pretty sure that if Thor ever caught her making out with Captain America, he would probably hit Steve over the head with Mjolnir and lecture later. And if he ever caught them in bed together? Yeesh. Darcy could only imagine the lengths Thor might go to "defend her honor." The idea sort of scared her, frankly.

Alien "god" versus super soldier? She tucked the pillow under her chin and mused thoughtfully. Who would win that fight, anyway?

It would certainly be an interesting show of muscles and manliness, that's for sure. Darcy sighed, again, at the thought of muscles. Steve's muscles, specifically. And her thoughts spiraled downward…

Along with her hands. There was only one way she was exorcising those smoky, sensual, decadent thoughts of Steve's long-limbed body, muscled torso, and soulful blue eyes…

* * *

_She lay on the bed, dressed only in her new, bright orange bra and panties. The room was cool and she shivered, although, whether from anticipation or from the chill, she couldn't discern. Her hands were above her head, held in place by a large hand that gripped her wrists firmly, but not cruelly. Darcy all but squirmed with need, but he had told her to lay still; his large body, pressed tightly to her side, ensured her obedience, since there was only so much that she could wiggle anyway with his thick thigh tossed so casually over hers._

_ He took his time, just touching her. It drove Darcy wild, his gentle touching – she'd never had a lover before who took so much pleasure in the simple things. But, she could understand why he did – he was a considerate man by nature, for one, and for another, he was still quite new to all of this. He hadn't become complacent in his carnal knowledge; Darcy wondered briefly if he ever would, really. Steve just seemed like the kind of guy who liked to take his time to things "right". She had watched him clean a gun, had seen him plan attack, had seen him lead; Steve always did things with purpose, carefully, and with perfect execution._

_ He was a Type A personality, for sure, hell-bent on perfection. Why would his approach to love be any different? There was no room for "second-best" or "haphazard" in Steve's ethical vocabulary._

_ She was A-OK with that, for sure. Darcy curled her toes, as the fingers of his free hand smoothed the skin along her ribcage. God, his hands were a-m-a-z-i-n-g._

_ "Cold?" if there was any amusement in Steve's voice, she couldn't hear it; if anything, he was utterly sincere in bed, totally transparent in thought, word, and deed._

_ It was part of why she loved being with him. Steve didn't do duplicity. What you saw was what you got and while his old-fashioned morals could get on her feminist nerves, at least she never had to worry about him "playing the game." Games were for children and this was certainly not kid-friendly. There was always sincerity in his touch, in his words, in his eyes. Darcy trusted his desires and in turn, learned to trust hers. There was no safer place than here, in his arms, in her bed._

_ "Yeah," Darcy turned her head and peered at him from over the smooth length of her upstretched arm._

_ She meant to say, "yeah, a little", but all that came out was that one single word. She found that she was absolutely incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence. When she inhabited a bed with Steve, the best she could manage were one-word statements: "Yes", "No", "Harder", and "Steve". Occasionally, she could manage two-word statements, her most favorite being "Don't stop!" He didn't manage to do any better when she was in control, but when he took charge, at least Steve was able to complete full sentences. Darcy couldn't manage that regardless of who was "on top"._

_ In this particular instance, saying less was usually a good thing. For example, right now: Steve's face lit up in an almost-lazy smile and his hand, which had been dancing lightly across her covered chest and softly-rounded tummy, suddenly slipped lower. He went by inches and Darcy fought the fresh urge to squirm. Her breath caught in her throat, as she hoped upon hope that he was moving so intently toward the juncture of her thighs._

_ His fingers caught on the lace edge of her panties and he effortlessly lifted himself up on his elbow and leaned in for a kiss. It was all tongue, teeth, lips, and breath. Darcy melted, her body going completely, delightfully limp beneath him. She couldn't help it – his kisses had a way of doing that to her. Every. Time._

_ Steve, also, _loved_ to kiss. Really, Darcy thought it might be his favorite thing. Not that she was complaining, but his lips were ever rarely away from hers in such situations. He'd been a little sloppy at first, a little unsure of himself, a little over-eager, but it didn't take him long to catch onto what Darcy liked._

_ She liked _strength_, dominance, and tongue. Actually, Darcy liked quite a bit of dominance, which had made things a little difficult at first, since Steve was not only inexperienced, but had also insisted on being such a damn gentleman in bed. Thankfully, he had gotten over that and, in his single-minded determination to please Darcy, had stepped up to the plate in all his magnificent testosterone and military assertiveness._

_ He was dominant now, taking what he wanted. Her hands were still pinned over her head and his tongue danced against her with a certainty that was breathtaking. His other hand had crept slowly beneath the waistband of her orange panties and was palming her smooth mound. Darcy whimpered into his mouth and lifted her hips in wordless want. For just a moment, Steve broke their kiss and laughed softly against her cheek._

_ "You never want to take things slow, do you?" his blue eyes mocked her mischievously._

_ "No," Darcy shook her head, her throat tight; she thought she might spontaneously combust if he didn't touch her._

_ "Well, that's too bad, now isn't it?" Steve's lips taunted hers with his words as he lowered his head down for another thought-stealing kiss._

_ Darcy felt herself go soft, her body melting helplessly in the wake of his words. She didn't like it slow; she never had, preferring instead to get down to business quickly while her partner pounded her into oblivion. It was easier that way; she didn't have to connect then, didn't have to feel._

_ Steve, though, forced her to feel – there was that dominance thing again. And so help her, she was such a sucker for it. As it was, in this time and place, she could feel every deliciously agonizing second of what Steve did to her. She could feel the heat from his body – the man really was his own private sun – and it warmed her straight to the bone. She could smell his scent – sweat, Old Spice, wintergreen toothpaste, and musk. She could taste the chocolate he'd eaten earlier, still lingering on his tongue. She could hear his breath in her ear – hot, ragged, and eager. She, Darcy Lewis, was completely immersed in the experience that was Steve Rogers._

_ A world of women would give anything to be in her place, to be on the receiving end of Captain America and his oh so talented fingers. He could never be Captain America to her, though, not in these moments, as a knuckle borrowed between her folds and started a soft, slow, torturous circle against her clit. No, she definitely didn't think of him as the First Avenger, or as a super soldier, or as a super hero in these moments – she simply thought of him as a man. _Her_ man._

_ "Steve!" his name was a strangled cry as he hovered over her, his lips warm and wet against her throat._

_ She twisted, squirmed, bucked beneath him, as he repositioned his hand – still beneath the delicate fabric of her panties. The rough thumb of his pad tormented her and one long, almost-elegant finger slipped deep into her. The moan that dragged itself out of Darcy's throat was primitive and she felt him stir in response against her hip._

_ "Scream for me, Darcy," Steve's voice was deep and wanton against her ear; Darcy panted helplessly in response._

_ Another finger slid into her and he murmured against her, complimenting her on her tightness, on her wetness, on the raw need she couldn't hide even if she tried. (As if she would ever want to try!) The whole world, all of existence, narrowed down to just the two of them, to Darcy's bed, and to the steady rhythm of Steve's fingers inside her and against her._

_ Darcy hovered helplessly on the edge of her undoing and she embraced it eagerly. As he teased her mercilessly toward release, his fingers delving inside of her, his fingers dancing above her, Darcy gave herself willingly to him._

_ She knew, in every instinctive fiber of her body, that it was okay to let go – he didn't need to murmur encouragement in her ear, although he did. Darcy knew, in the mind-shattering moment of trembling limbs and ecstatic shout, that Steve would be there to catch her as she fell._

* * *

Darcy woke up the next morning in surprisingly good spirits. She had enjoyed a nice, quiet evening with her own thoughts, desires, and devices with nary a Steve or a Tony in sight to embarrass her. She'd also had a surprisingly good dream (albeit, a rather steamy one) and she was feeling a strange sense of magnanimous good will.

She also had come up with a plan. The hug from last night was kind of random – along with the invitation to the movies – but she'd dropped off to sleep while pondering how she would advance her attack over the next 11 days. "Slow and steady" was what had come to mind and she was curiously optimistic about her chances of success.

After all, Steve had returned her hug last night. He had accepted her offer to the movies and even had accepted her awkward attempt at bodily contact. In fact, now that she had gotten over the hormonal high of the hug, she was able to analyze some of the finer points of the previous evening.

Most particularly was the statement:

"_You know, that's sort of my move."_

This statement had also been accompanied by his own attempt at touching – when she thought about it, she could almost imagine the warmth of his hand as if it were back to resting just above her knee. There had been no attempt on Steve's part to remove that hand, either. They had sat like that – her arm (half way) around his shoulder, his hand on her knee, for a good 40 minutes.

And on the way back to Stark Tower, the awkwardness had lessened. It was easy to talk to Steve, to walk down the street with him, to spend time with him. Darcy was more than a little surprised by how well the evening had gone in general, truth be told. Steve hadn't really pulled away at any point or even subtly hinted that he disliked her attention.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her hopeful. As long as she didn't lose her cool, then hopefully Tony wouldn't end up making a fool out of her.

* * *

"Don't you guys ever take the day off?" Darcy griped good-naturedly as she stood in the doorway of the lab that Jane and Bruce shared.

Her hands were on her hips and she surveyed the array of scattered papers, the litter of pens and pencils, and the small pyramids of stacked Styrofoam coffee cups that decorated the premises. Darcy wasn't the neatest person in the world, but she sometimes thought that Jane's working space too closely resembled the nests of the rats that were forever associated with experimenting scientists.

Thankfully, as a physicist, Jane was exactly in the market for rats. Darcy had always appreciated that one small fact about her former "employer" – she secretly _hated_ mice and down-right abhorred rats. Just the thought of them made her shudder in revulsion.

"Well, bad guys don't exactly take holidays and paid vacation," Bruce replied mildly from his (slightly neater) corner of the room, where he was staring intently at four different computer monitors.

"Yeah, well…," Darcy put her hands on her hips and turned her gaze expectantly toward Jane.

They were _supposed_ to hang out on Saturdays and just do…normal things. Darcy didn't care what, but it couldn't include S.H.I.E.L.D (short of Fury just showing up out of the blue to ruin things), saving the world, weird science, or aliens. Usually, Jane was pretty good about setting aside time to just be an average "Jane Doe" and it helped that usually, Thor took Darcy's side and insisted on the virtues of taking a "day off".

Most of the time, though, Jane forgot what day it was. This seemed to happen more and more lately, actually, since some bad dude by the utterly over-the-top name of "Dr. Doom" had surfaced on the Avenger radar and had started making a nuisance of himself. Darcy tried not to feel too put out about the inconvenience of super-villains.

"Oh, it's Saturday, isn't it, Darce?" Jane swiveled in her chair and turned away from her own computer screen, her face stricken.

"Yeah," Darcy could now see what was on Jane's screen and she stifled a sigh of exasperation.

It looked Asgaardian, whatever it was. Definitely not a Doom-creation. In fact, it looked like the schematic of a weapon – some sort of spear or something – with what definitely looked like runes carved on the side of it.

_Damn Loki_, Darcy thought and fought the urge to stomp her foot in frustration.

It just seemed as if they'd never get far enough away from Loki's dead shadow, her, Jane and Thor. Even with his brother dead and gone, even with his own now-mortal-and-as-far-as-anyone-knew-permanent-status on Midgaard, it seemed as if they could never shake the Asgaardian connection. Even months after the Dark Elf invasion, Darcy still caught glimpses of Dark Elf, Asgaardian, and other Nine Realm technology on screens and schematics around Stark Tower.

She'd never be rid of it, her memories of rainbow bridges and Aether. Common sense told her that "duh! Of course!", but Darcy still found herself wishing that she could just put it all behind her and never think about it again.

_Gawd_, it was times like this when she wished for just a normal, everyday life.

Of course, as soon as she wished such things, she immediately reminded herself that she'd had a normal life once. And it didn't include Thor, or Jane, or…Steve.

"I just…well…we got a directive from Fury," Jane looked appropriately stricken and Darcy felt her ill-feelings abating just a little. "We just got some stuff in from one of our field teams that needs to be analyzed ASAP."

"It came in this morning," Bruce chimed in; Darcy glanced over at him and he, too, had turned to look at her and his expression was surprisingly sympathetic. "If it makes you feel any better, Fury called Tony and woke him up at 5:00."\

"We started working at 6:00," Jane's nose wrinkled in distaste and Darcy could only imagine what the summons to work on a Saturday had sounded like, coming from Stark.

It had probably been laced with plenty of expletives and foul attitude; the look on both Jane's and Bruce's faces confirmed Darcy's suspicion. Strangely enough, except for the lack of professionalism, Darcy couldn't blame Tony one bit. She'd be pretty pissed, too.

"Oh…well…does _everyone_ have their eyes glued to a computer screen?" Darcy glanced at her watch; it was now 9:00.

Bruce and Jane had already been working for four hours.

"No, it's just the two of us and Tony, as far as I know," Jane picked up a still-steaming Styrofoam cup in one hand and rubbed her forehead in an expression of exhaustion with the other.

"Natasha's been sent off with Clint to investigate something that I can only assume involves this thing," Bruce waved his hand toward Jane's computer. "And Thor was talking to Fury about something in the conference room, last time I heard. Cap's been notified, too…but as far as I know, there's not really anything he can do to help."

_Ouch, big guy_, Darcy winced inwardly at Bruce's words; inaction did _not_ sit well with the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan.

"So, yeah…I guess the whole team is involved, more or less," Jane admitted with a yawn that she tried to stifle even while speaking.

_Glad to know I'm important_, Darcy's inner voice snarked, a bit hurt by the fact that she had woken up at 8:30 without a single clue that something potentially "big" had gone down while she slept.

"Okay, cool," she said instead and without any further ado, beat a hasty retreat out of the lab.

Her stomach growled as she fled toward the safety of the elevator and she decided, as she had nothing else to do, that she'd visit the kitchen and see about making herself something to eat. A part of her briefly pondered the idea of making something for Jane and Bruce, too, since she knew them well and doubted they'd had anything since coffee since they woke up. But, feeling bitter by the stark reminder that she just wasn't cool to actually be a _part_ of the Avengers, she decided that the big, bad superheroes (and one absent-minded scientist who dated one such big, bad superhero) could fend for themselves.

"And hell have them," she spitefully added out loud, as she mashed the button for the kitchen's level.

What a difference ten minutes could make on a girl's mood…

* * *

And so it was, in a state of high dungeon, that Darcy stormed into the kitchen. Expecting to be in there alone, she stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes locked onto the broad shoulders of Steve Rogers. He was standing at the stove and had his back turned to her; the _most delicious smell EVER_ wafted through the kitchen and Darcy realized with a jolt of surprise that Captain Freakin' America apparently knew how to _cook_.

"Hold up, now!" Darcy's bad mood dissipated in the wake of a mischievous smile as she introduced herself loudly into Steve's space. "When did _you_ learn how to cook?"

"Oh, y'know," if Steve was startled by her sudden appearance, he didn't show it; he glanced quickly over his shoulder and smiled just as easily when he caught sight of her. "About 1930 or so."

Darcy paused a moment and scanned his face. Usually, when Steve brought up his past, he struggled to hide his bitterness. He had to turn his attention back toward the stove, but she angled herself near the island counter to keep an eye on his face and she didn't see any of the usual thinness around the corners of his mouth that gave away his anger. Encouraged by his surprising good humor on the matter, Darcy sidled up next to him and peered around the curve at his bicep at the pan in front of him.

"Aw, man! Eggs and bacon?" her stomach growled – _loudly_ – in eager anticipation.

Embarrassed, she laughed and tried to avoid his amused gaze. She had been painfully aware of the fact, for some time now, that she was far from the elegant "dames" he would have once known. She'd seen pictures of Peggy – Darcy knew that compared to Lieutenant Carter, she wasn't exactly a lady. The funny thing was, Steve didn't seem to mind…but was that because he genuinely didn't care, or because she was relegated to "one of the guys" in his head?

He wouldn't be the only guy who had done that – even some of the more "modern" men she had met thought her bold, in-your-face ways were entirely too crass for a woman. This usually didn't bother Darcy, since she thought men who thought that way to be boring old ass-hats, But…well…she didn't really want Steve to think of her as unattractive…

"Hey, Darce?"

She blinked at the hand that was waving in front of her nose.

"Darce?"

She blinked again and made eye contact with very bemused Steve.

"You okay? He had raised an eyebrow and considered her suspiciously for a moment before turning back to the sizzling bacon in the pan in front of him. "You seem really…preoccupied…since yesterday."

Darcy swallowed hard and eyed him hard for a moment. Did he…suspect something?

"Naw, I'm okay. Just hungry," she laughed easily enough and playfully punched his arm.

His arm was like steel beneath the brush of her knuckles.

_Hot!_ She wanted to just melt into a puddle of goo at his feet.

"And…what are _you_ doing in the kitchen, anyway?" she prattled on, before she could get completely derailed by the thought of his bulging, unforgiving muscles. "I thought the team got tossed a bone today. Jane and Bruce have their noses to the microscope and it's not even noon yet."

"Oh, well," Steve shrugged and she finally saw the corner of his mouth tighten oh so slightly in disapproval. "It's mostly a job for everyone else. Fury didn't really have anything for me to do, so I came in here and started up breakfast. Figured I could feed everyone, anyway. You know Tony and them. They'll get wrapped up in their work and remember to eat right before they pass out from exhaustion 18 hours later."

Darcy snorted – she did indeed know of what Steve spoke. She'd had to chase down Jane on more than one occasion and practically _sit on her_, just to get her to eat. Which was hilarious, because once she was pinned down and forced to focus, Jane could eat as heartily as Thor.

"You're a pretty cool guy, Steve," Darcy flashed him an awkward smile – she wasn't used to paying people compliments, but she figured he deserved one – and turned to hop up on one of the island stools.

"Cool? Whatcha' mean?" Steve turned slightly and watched her settle herself down, her elbows on the black marble countertop.

"Well, you know," Darcy waved her hand airily toward the stove, trying desperately to play cool herself. "Cooking breakfast for everyone and all that. You know you don't have to."

"Yeah, I do," Steve was perfectly genuine in his insistence; he turned toward Darcy fully and crossed his arms over his impressively broad chest.

She couldn't help but admire the way that made his pecs stand out.

"It's what a leader _does_. Takes care of his people and all that," he waved his spatula at her and Darcy had to bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

He was _adorable_.

"And if I'm going to be the leader of this ragtag bunch of misfits…well...cooking breakfast for my team when I don't have anything to do myself is a fine way to serve the folks who follow me in to battle. God knows they're not going to take care of themselves."

"Well, Thor would…" Darcy offered hopefully.

"True," Steve admitted, but then _he_ laughed and shook his head. "Except, I don't think _Odinsson_ knows how to cook, for one. And for another, he's just as likely to eat the bacon _raw_, so…"

"Yeah," Darcy wrinkled her nose and nodded in emphatic agreement. "Probably best to cook it before he can give himself trichinosis."

"Give himself _what_?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind. Trust me, you don't want to know. You're burning the bacon," the words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush as Darcy tried desperately to distract Steve from the finer horrors of modern life.

Sometimes, life was better lived in ignorance. When she found out about trichinosis in middle school, she hadn't _touched_ pork again until her early twenties. Even then, she refused to eat pork unless it was organic and she had cooked it herself. And dear Lord, the time she had to dissect a fetal pig…

"Damn it," Steve's husky voice brought her out of her reverie and she took a deep, thankful breath as he saved her from a grilling round of 20 questions.

There was so much that Steve didn't know – and the he felt he _needed_ to know – that he hardly ever let an unfamiliar word pass him by without explanation. Darcy hoped that he would forget completely and not corner her later to demand a definition.

Of course, if he did, no harm done. At least it would be _after _he ate breakfast.

A hand startled her from her thoughts.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay, Darcy?" Steve's blue eyes were inches away from hers and Darcy bit her lip.

"Yeah, no problem," she responded glibly – lying about her feelings and inner world came too easily and she felt a twinge of conscience over it. "You save the bacon?" disconcerted by his gaze, she found a handy excuse to look away toward the stove, where she spied the bacon pan pushed safely to the back of the stove.

"Yeah. I was asking you to hand me a plate so I could move the bacon off of the stove," Steve kept his hand on her shoulder and she could feel his warmth again; parts of her began to tingle that she wasn't quite ready to tingle in his presence so early in the day.

"Oh, sorry. Zoned out a minute," she moved to hop off the stool, but Steve's hand kept her firmly in place.

"You're really tense," he squeezed his hand on her shoulder and Darcy had to swallow a squeak of surprise.

Damn! But the man had a helluva strong grip!

"Turn around for a minute," he commanded and waved his other hand toward the general direction of the countertop.

"What?" Darcy – ever the one to question orders – blinked in blank confusion.

"Turn around," he put _both_ hands on her shoulders and gently nudged her so she'd turn around.

Surprised, Darcy didn't quite know how to respond, except to do as he said. Once she was facing the stove, Steve dug his thumbs into her shoulder blades –

And Darcy nearly fell off of her stool.

"Oh my _God_."

It slipped out, an instinctive little groan that simply couldn't be stopped. His fingers were long and firm, his pressure consistent all along her shoulders. His hands were large enough that they nearly encompassed her shoulders entirely and Steve used that to his advantage. It just took two more simple squeezes, before Darcy flopped face-first down on the counter and rested her forehead on the tops of her own hands.

"Too hard?" Steve worried from behind her, while his fingers did the most glorious tango along the base of her neck.

"No," Darcy _did_ squeak this time and she was all but rendered completely speechless.

The moment was the magnificent bastard child of a wet dream. Steve stood behind her in his ubiquitous white t-shirt and a pair of jeans, _massaging_ her shoulders. He hadn't been wrong – her shoulders _were_ tight, but what Darcy didn't tell him was that her shoulders were _always_ tight. She carried all of her stress, all of her worry, all of her emotions in her shoulders and they very rarely ever relaxed. The feel of his fingers digging into the knots along the top of her spine was simply too much to take. She _moaned _into the kitchen countertop, a waton slave at his every mercy and whim. If Steve had asked her to strip naked and spread herself open for him at that very moment, Darcy would have done it without a second thought or moral qualm.

"Does this help at all?"

His voice was smooth, like honey, a little rough, like a fine vodka. Darcy was practically drooling on herself, she was so awash in sensation. No one had ever just stood behind her and started rubbing her shoulders on a whim, just because. And she was pretty sure that the 70 Year Old Virgin behind her didn't have any ulterior motives behind his sudden expression of concern. It was…indescribable, the knowledge that she could just put her head down on the counter and let him take charge.

Darcy trusted Steve. She knew it…had known it since the first day she ran into him at Stark Tower, when they had practically collided and she'd nearly dropped a tray of coffees on his shoes. He had reached out and grabbed both her _and_ the tray, saving them both from certain disaster. His hands had been as strong on that day as they were now.

And knowing that she trusted him…trusted him enough to let her guard down and let him _touch _her, was both terrifying and oh, so unspeakably erotic.

He chuckled softly behind her and it _almost_ sounded like a sexy, self-contented _purr_. Really, the man was unbelievable. How had he survived as long as he had without absolute and irrevocable _corruption_? He was so mind-blowingly _sexy_…

_And doesn't have a clue_, she managed to collect enough of her thoughts to formulate a complete sentence inside her head.

His fingers just kept kneading away; he had found one of her bigger stress points, a spot just below her right shoulder blade, and was steadily working it out. It hurt at first and she tried to pull away, but he steadied his left hand on her left shoulder and held her gently in place while he worked the knot of muscle out.

"Easy, now," he murmured, as his fingers dug deep into her tissue.

The kitchen smelled of bacon and toast; Darcy's stomach rumbled again, just as the knot in her shoulder finally gave way to Steve's patient pressure. His hands smoothed over the tender spot and back up around both of her shoulders, where he squeezed gently one last time before moving away.

"Noooooo," Darcy mewled, practically incoherent.

Steve laughed again, the sound sexy and decadent.

"I think I've done as much as good as I can. Feel better?"

She turned her head and looked up at him; he had moved to stand behind her and had leaned his hip against the edge of the counter.

"You're so fucking sexy, you know that?"

The words just came out. Those damned words just slid right off of her tongue and through her teeth. She meant them – every syllable – but she didn't mean to say it out loud. It was just…the way he leaned so casually against the counter, his white t-shirt filled out to its max capacity across his chest, the way his hands had soothed her, the way his laugh had made her melt as certainly as his massage.

Steve's eyes flared wide in something like disbelief. And then…the blush crept up his neck and across his face, and his gaze turned shy. Darcy carefully pushed herself back up into a sitting position, her palms pressed against the cool marble beneath her fingers. They stared at each other, dumbstruck, wary. Steve's gaze wavered and he licked his lips nervously; Darcy couldn't help herself, her eyes locked on the flush that had crept even to his mouth. And she couldn't help fixating on that flash of pink tongue – what would it feel like against her skin?

Oh, so help her. She wanted him.

"You're a good looking dame yourself…Darcy."

His words were hesitant, but his tone was sure. He said her name slowly, like a caress. Darcy met his eyes and time seemed to stand still for a moment; for sure, she couldn't breathe, just for that second or two as their eyes locked onto one another.

There was something in his eyes, something indescribable that she hadn't ever seen before. He seemed to be searching for something in her gaze, too. What he was looking for, she couldn't fathom, but after a moment, he seemed to have found what he was looking for. His mouth tilted up in a slow smile and he finally pushed himself away from the counter and away from her.

She wanted nothing more than to reach out toward him and pull him back toward her oh, so willing body.

"Pass me a plate, will you Darcy?"

Her stomach growled, ever un-lady-like. He laughed.

And so help her…Darcy laughed, too. And it wasn't forced. It was just that easy to laugh around him.

_I'm such a goner. Suuuuuch a stupid, stupid goner._

And worse…she was starting to suspect that somehow, he _knew_.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Thank you sooooo much to** Jo**, **Violet Enigma**, and **Maddieclaybourne**. And thanks to everyone who has favorited/followed this story. You guys are awesome! Thank you! :) Please keep the love comin'!_


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